


The Properties of Sound

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shockwave has always been isolated, and once, he wouldn't have had it any other way - but four million years of silence will take their toll on even the most logical Cybertronian.  What he needs in his life now is a little more... sound.  </p><p>Written for a prompt from Tumblr user war-of-wrath:  "If you feel in the mood for some Shockwave, feel free to give him some love (poor guy is so lonely on Cybertron). ;)"  Now complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amplitude

It wasn’t loneliness, because loneliness is illogical.

 

And being alone had never particularly concerned Shockwave.  He was generally most contented in his lab, or pouring over a battle map on his own, his one good hand marking notations here and there.  After five million years of living in close quarters with the Decepticon rank and file, who did not seem capable of staying quiet to save their lives – and worse, with officers like Starscream, who seemed to enjoy being a chaotic influence – Megatron’s making Shockwave Guardian of Cybertron had come not only as a profound honour, but as a relief.  Shockwave had found himself anticipating the time alone with deep satisfaction:  just him, the drones, and the broad, silent sweep of the abandoned planet for him to order and regulate as he saw fit, in the service of his lord.

 

And then the initial weeks became months, became years.  Even taking interstellar distances into account, something had clearly gone wrong.  Shockwave sent drones to search, as far out as he dared, but the supply of energon was too meagre to cover great distances.  The drones returned empty-servoed.

 

And the years began to pile up, like dust in the corners.

 

Still, what troubled him was not loneliness, not exactly.  He could not deny that he missed… that is to say, that he found himself diminished by the absence of his lord.  (Absence, not death, for Shockwave would not believe Megatron was dead without some concrete evidence.  A true scientist did not base his conclusions on assumptions – and a true guardian did not succumb to fear.)  Shockwave even found himself dwelling on the memories of the other Decepticon officers with a persistence that troubled him.  He would catch himself rehearsing in his head the arguments he would use when Starscream inevitably challenged his latest experiment, only to remember that there was no one left to issue such a challenge.  And more than once, Shockwave gave a cordial nod as he passed by a shadowed corner, imagining that he glimpsed Soundwave’s silhouette lurking there.  But the shadows were always empty.  Logically, it should not be more disconcerting to realise that one _wasn’t_ being watched – and yet.

 

Without the animating electricity of Megatron’s words, of his fire, and without the other officers to act as flint for the spark of his own ideas, Shockwave often felt himself to be little more than a lump of metal, inert and cold.  He was slowly becoming part of the dead planet around him.

 

Worse even than that was the undeniable hunger, a hunger far more intense and specific than his longing for Megatron, or the physical effects of energon deprivation.  Shockwave was desperate for new knowledge.  For the first few thousand years, he’d continued his experiments – had even relished the chance to do so, uninterrupted by the petty concerns and squabbles of other Decepticons.  But without an influx of energon, he could no longer justify lab work just for the sake of knowledge, with no immediate practical application.  After all, he had no idea how long his current store of fuel had to hold out.  It might be forever.  And even if he restricted himself to more pragmatic inquiries – well, there were limits to the number of ways even the most curious of minds could tinker with drones and refine security protocols.  He’d devoured what little there was to satiate his curiosity, and yet he was still starving.

 

More and more frequently now, Shockwave found himself on the roof of Decepticon HQ, surveying the city below.

 

_Cybertron shall remain as you left it._

 

The words, intended as a promise, had taken on the weight of a curse.  Cybertron was, indeed, exactly as Megatron had left it.  Motionless, unchanging, unable to progress.  What had once seemed like a wide world had long ago been mapped in minute detail, chopped into sectors, studied, patrolled, and known.  There was nothing more for Shockwave to learn.  Sometimes, it seemed as if there was nothing new left in the universe.

 

Though that was hyperbole, and as such, illogical.

 

Shockwave maintained vigorous discipline, as much to regulate his own thoughts and prevent them from slipping into unproductive despondency as to actually further the security of the planet.  Part of that discipline was the daily call to Megatron’s frequency.  Shockwave never permitted that call to sound hopeless, or desperate.  Every day, he addressed the airways with consummate professionalism – _Shockwave to Megatron!  Come in, Megatron!_ – and every day, he received only silence in response.

 

Until the day when the signal caught, connected, and came back.

 

*krrzzk* “recog –” *kzz* “-tempting ampli –” *bzzz* “now.  Repeat.  Signal recognised, message received.  Stand by for response.  Attempting amplification now.”

 

Shockwave only just had time to process the familiar voice – _Soundwave_ – before a shadowy outline he knew like he knew the back of his own hand appeared, barely visible through the interference on the screen in front of him.

 

Megatron.

 

For an astrosecond, Shockwave wondered whether his processor had finally broken, because when the image resolved, he could see that Megatron looked exactly as he did when he had left Cybertron four million years before.  The scars were exactly as catalogued in Shockwave’s data tracks, and the warlord looked young and vigorous.  He’d been missing for a period of time almost as long as the war itself had lasted up until that point, and yet all those years had left not a trace on the Decepticon leader.  Surely, that was the mark of a hallucination.

 

Shockwave ran an internal diagnostic, then one on the communications equipment.  Both came up clean in a matter of astroseconds.

 

This was real.

 

“Megatron,” he vented, his voice heavy, laced with static.  “Leader of the Decepticons.”

 

Megatron was grinning triumphantly, and a rush of charge went through Shockwave.  Behind his lord, he could just see Starscream, leaning against a bulkhead and smirking in a way that, for once in his long life, Shockwave could almost find endearing.  And off to the side, sitting at a console, was Soundwave, his skilful fingers dancing over the dials to clear the last of the interference away. 

 

What Shockwave later remembered most vividly about that moment, besides the majestic image of his leader, was the small but unmistakable pulse of gratitude he felt towards the communications officer.  It was as if, in simply establishing that subspace channel, Soundwave was the one who had brought Megatron back to him.

 

Illogical.

 

But there, nonetheless.


	2. Frequency

After the discovery of his long-lost leader, Shockwave set about his work with fresh purpose.  Megatron was not only back, but re-energised and brimming with plans, such bold plans for the final destruction of the Autobots.  Amply supplied with energon for the first time in four million years, Shockwave began crafting the best weapons he had yet made for his master.

 

However, he was forced to admit that he was disappointed when Megatron told him he was not to be stationed on Earth.  The order made sense, given that he had so many duties requiring his attention on Cybertron.  And yet, somehow, the isolation seemed more acute, now that his fellow Decepticons were only a moment’s journey away.  And the tempting fact that an alien planet lay just across the space bridge – a planet teeming with strange and uncharted life – made him itch, as if he had scraplets under his plating. 

 

Cybertron had remained as Megatron had left it, and Megatron himself had remained exactly the same.  But Shockwave was beginning to fear that _he_ had changed.

 

There was a certain amount of traffic between Earth and Cybertron, but apart from occasional Autobot incursions, it was all planned and regulated.  So it came as a surprise when, a good five months after the construction of the space bridge, it fired up one day without a visit being scheduled.  Shockwave had just raised the drones’ alert status and taken up a position before the entrance, gun arm at the ready, when Soundwave stepped through, holding a recalcitrant Ravage by the back of the neck.

 

Shockwave lowered his gun, silently emitting a signal for the drones to stand down, and gave a formal nod.  “Soundwave.  How may I help you?”

 

Soundwave returned the gesture.  “Ravage:  damaged.”  The mech in question gave a low growl, but subsided at a look from Soundwave.  “Shockwave, able to assist in repairs?”

 

“Why not take him to Hook?”  It wasn’t a dismissal; Shockwave was genuinely curious.

 

His visitor regarded him steadily for a moment, red visor glowing.  “Constructicons, not trustworthy, have shown tendency towards rebellion.  Ravage, prefers Shockwave.”  He paused for a moment, then continued more softly, “Shockwave, trusted.”

 

Shockwave was unsure whether that last statement was meant to refer to the cassette’s feelings, or to Soundwave’s.  Ravage at least looked a little less hostile than he had a moment before, but that was far from reassuring from a medical standpoint:  he’d given up growling and begun to vent heavily instead.  Shockwave could see singe marks along his flank, and the tell-tale bulge of wires protruding from a particularly deep gash.  It didn’t appear life-threatening, but a delay would do Ravage no good.

 

“I will do what I can, but you understand that my knowledge is limited.  My experiments do not tend to focus on keeping their subjects alive.”

 

Soundwave gave the barest nod of acknowledgement, his gaze fixed intently on Shockwave’s single optic.

 

“I will need your hands.”  Shockwave could conduct complex dissections with only one hand – he’d had enough practice by now – but it was a painstaking process, and the work would go much faster with an assistant.

 

Another nod, curt and businesslike, answered him.  Shockwave turned and led the two out of the command centre, directing them to a large room that had once been a storage area.  Now, it was outfitted as Shockwave’s private lab.  Shockwave glanced from the benches covered in the admittedly gruesome leavings of his experiments – scraps of armour, energon bubbling in vials – to Soundwave, but the communications officer only spared a single, if curious, look around before focusing his attention once again on his symbiont.

 

Ravage was quiet as Soundwave lifted him up onto an empty table.  The cassette squirmed and tiredly tried to snap when Shockwave laid an exploratory hand on him.  Soundwave gently brought Ravage’s head around to face him, and the two stared mutely at each other for a long moment; Shockwave could practically hear the electric hum of the symbiotic bond.  Ravage whined softly, pleadingly, but he stilled under Shockwave’s touch.

 

“The damage appears concentrated in the lateral sensory receptor.”  Shockwave’s fingers – wide and blunt, but practiced – spread the shredded metal further, causing Ravage to keen, his back legs scrabbling uselessly at the table.  “Here – hold the wound open like this while I repair the lines.” 

 

For some reason, Soundwave hesitated.  Glancing up, Shockwave caught an unguarded flash of emotion across the communications officer’s visor as he stared at his whimpering symbiont.  It took Shockwave a moment to reason through the unexpected reaction.

 

More softly, he offered, “I would disable his pain sensors, but it would make the repair all but impossible.  The receptor is quite complex, and the damage extensive.  Without the necessary feedback from Ravage’s sensors, I cannot be sure I am making the correct connections.”

 

Soundwave nodded, and if the gesture was a little less certain this time, it at least seemed determined.  “Pain transmitted through symbiotic bond.  Soundwave will relay sensations to Shockwave.”  With that, delicate white fingers slid across Ravage’s torn hide, taking the place of Shockwave’s broader digits.

 

As soon as Shockwave touched a laser tool to one of the singed wires, Ravage growled low in his throat, and Soundwave reported levelly, “Pain.”

 

“At the point of contact?”

 

“Affirmative, and… deeper, as well.”  One of Soundwave’s hands momentarily crept from the wound to Ravage’s face, rubbing the side of his muzzle, and then returned to its position.

 

“A major conduit, then.” Shockwave continued his work, making observations aloud as he did so – partly out of habit, and partly for Soundwave’s sake.  It was slow going, but eventually Ravage’s whines quieted as the primary repairs took hold.

 

That was, until Shockwave’s scalpel hit an unexpected node, sending an electric jolt up his arm.  Ravage twisted frantically against Soundwave’s grip.  The communications officer’s voice was ragged with static.  “Pain, acute.”

 

Without replying, Shockwave ducked in as close as he could, delicately unpicking the wires around the damaged node.  There was an intensity to his actions; he did not hurry, exactly, but every motion was quick and crisp as he set about the repair.  His concentration was such that, at first, he did not take any notice of the soft sounds coming from Soundwave’s direction.  Just some meaningless murmurings to calm Ravage, surely.

 

No – not speech at all.  Shockwave tilted his head, craning one antenna a little closer, without his optic leaving his work.  It was music.  The quiet strains poured over them ceaselessly as Shockwave worked.  The mathematical arrangements were not unfamiliar:  most music seemed to operate based on one of a small set of numerical patterns, in Shockwave’s observation.  But the instruments used to produce the sound seemed flawed, imprecise.

 

“From Earth?” he surmised, softly.  Soundwave’s only response as a nod, as his gaze remained fixed on Ravage.

 

Shockwave was on the verge of asking what the purpose of the recording was, and why Soundwave would choose an inferior species’ imperfect music when Cybertronian instruments were capable of modulating sound so much more exactly.  But such questions could wait for a more appropriate moment.  In any case, the answer to the first quickly became apparent.  Ravage seemed calmer, his venting more even, though Soundwave still reported that he was in pain.

 

Shockwave finished the repair quickly, one audial still tuned to the music, and closed the gash in Ravage’s hide.  Self-repair would do the rest.  The cassette was exhausted, on the verge of slipping into recharge.  “It would be best not to move him at the present time.”  Shockwave glanced over at Soundwave, who was still bent attentively over the operating table; the way his hands were gripping the edge, however, and the slight tremours running through his frame, betrayed how drained he was.  “You are in need of refuelling.  There is a dispenser in the corner.”

 

After a long moment, Soundwave straightened.  “Thank you.”  He drew a cube, and turned to face the wall as he drank.  Shockwave watched curiously for a moment, but then averted his gaze.  It was rare for Soundwave to unmask while another mech was even in the room (apart from his symbionts); his exhaustion must be getting the better of him.  As intriguing as the prospect of a glimpse of his bare face was, it was not worth the offense Shockwave might cause by staring.

 

Besides, whatever his thoughts on his own isolation, Shockwave could still appreciate the value of a completely private space.  If Soundwave’s space was something he carried with him, tucked behind that mask, then that was his own affair.

 

Refuelling complete and face once more hidden, Soundwave returned to the table, and stroked one hand gently over the sleeping form of Ravage.  “Soundwave:  grateful.  Will repay assistance.”

 

“Unnecessary.  This fell within my duties.”

 

And that should have been that.

 

But for some reason, it wasn’t.

 

It was some weeks afterward that Soundwave first started bringing him… things.  Specimens, to be more precise.  The first was a chunk of rock, with some strange, crystalline mineral glittering faintly within.  Shockwave’s optic brightened and his field flared with interest as he regarded it.  Soundwave made some offhanded comment about the stone being a potential source of energy, but Shockwave was already tuning him out as he considered what tests to run first.  It had been so long since he’d had fresh material to examine, and not since the beginning of the war had he had access to something alien.

 

Soundwave slipped away sometime between Shockwave’s eagerly seizing the rock and his completing the preparations for the first test, but a week later, he was back with a flora sample – a slender, frond-like structure that he called by the Earth word “tree”.  This time, to Shockwave’s mild surprise, Soundwave volunteered his assistance in the experiment.

 

“Would that not interfere with your duties?”

 

“Negative.  Soundwave:  off duty.  Frenzy, Rumble currently monitoring communications, will contact if necessary.”

 

Shockwave considered.  If it were any other Decepticon, he would refuse; but the likelihood of Soundwave using this glimpse into his experiments to damage or betray him was miniscule.  And another pair of hands _would_ be of use.  “I was unaware that xenobiology was among your interests.  But your help would be gratifying.  Set the specimen on that table there.  You will find the appropriate dissection tools in the third drawer down in the fifth cabinet; prepare to cut as I instruct.”  After a moment’s pause, he added, “Please,” but Soundwave was already moving to comply.

 

“All branches of science required to adapt strategies to war on Earth,” Soundwave said, answering the implied question from earlier as he removed a selection of saws from the drawer.  “Xenoanthropology, of greater interest, but xenobiology, essential.”  He paused, examining the edge of one of the blades, then laid it carefully on the table next to the deceased “tree”.  “My expertise, not in this subject.  Shockwave’s input:  wanted.  Missed.”

 

It struck Shockwave that the Decepticons on Earth had barely had time to miss his contribution, given that they had been in stasis for so long.  But Soundwave’s assertion gave him a certain satisfaction.  He finished calibrating the instruments he would use on this strange organic lifeform, and came to stand beside Soundwave.  “Shall we begin?”

 

*** 

 

Over the coming months, Soundwave provided a steady flow of specimens – flora, fauna, inorganic, and even samples of the humans’ primitive technology.  Shockwave felt a slight compunction at first about taking time away from his inventions to study the intriguing alien matter, but it quickly became clear that the experiments were the best imaginable way to improve the weapons.  An hour studying the physical makeup of this strange new planet, and the conditions the Decepticons had to face there, was worth more than a week of designing weapons based on old battles and old assumptions.  Not only was Shockwave able to make his weaponry more resilient, but some of the Earth creatures gave him ideas for new innovations.

 

And Soundwave had become a regular presence in the lab, as well.  More than simply an extra pair of hands, he was a vital source of information about Earth, and frequently contributed his own ideas to the designs – usually about how to control the weapons remotely, or ways to conceal them.

 

It was while they were working side by side one day, fine-tuning the details of a weapon based on one of the ocean creatures Soundwave had brought for study (the finished weapon would have long tentacles to draw its prey into its maw), that Soundwave began playing that same soft, imperfect music from his speakers again.

 

Shockwave looked over in surprise, and Soundwave, noticing the reaction, turned to face him.  He looked faintly embarrassed, as if he hadn’t realised that he’d turned the recording on.  But he did not stop it – not yet.  “Shockwave:  enjoys music?”

 

“Not to the extent that you do.  The mathematical order of it is pleasing, I will admit.  But most songs that I have heard then see fit to ruin this order by introducing clashing elements, or some jarring change partway through.  I do not see the point.”

 

Soundwave brought the song to an abrupt close, and was silent for a moment.  “Variations on melody, departures from rhythm, also part of pattern.  Contrast, highlights order.  Result:  intensified experience.  But Shockwave may enjoy this.” 

 

A different melody began – Cybertronian this time, Shockwave estimated, from the precision of the notes and the familiarity of the instruments.  The pattern of it was unusually complex, and Shockwave found his attention was diverted into trying to follow the nested melodies, the notes breaking into fractal patterns of harmonies.  He kept waiting for the moment when the song would shift, senselessly disrupting the delicate pattern… but it never came.  The network of notes repeated itself, then again, and finally came to a natural end.  The silence of his lab had never felt quite as thick to Shockwave as it did just then, when the last note had faded away.

 

He shook his head, clearing it, and caught Soundwave watching him intently.

 

“That one is… satisfying,” Shockwave admitted.  “Most unusual.”

 

Soundwave merely nodded, but Shockwave noticed that he left a recording of the song on the lab’s computer before his return to Earth.

 

*******

Shockwave found himself listening to the track the next time he was working in the lab alone.  And the time after that.  There was something not only pleasant, but useful, about its perfect pattern; with the music in the background, it seemed easier for his mind to operate along parallel tracks at once.  The bulk of his attention was still fixed on the task before him, but a small part of his processor was left to roam, following the path of the song.  More than once, Shockwave found that the solution to an unrelated problem came to him after he permitted a little of his attention to wander in this way.

 

However, the music was dangerous, as well – and one day, proved itself to be almost fatal.  Shockwave had it turned up high, so that he could still hear it from the furthest corner of his lab.  Because of that, he missed the soft hum of a device that should never have been there… and then the tell-tale click of that device being triggered.

 

A moment later, the lab exploded.


	3. Resonance

He came online in a hard rush of data, weapons systems flaring to life before he was even aware.  From every part of his frame, alerts were flashing up:  severe damage to his helm and scrapes down one side of his body.  But far more troubling were the warnings besieging him when he attempted to scan his processor, checking for injuries.  Processor functioning well below capacity; gyros unstable; tactical non-responsive.  Higher analytic functions – signal lost.  Self-repair – signal lost.  Signal lost.  Signal lost.

 

If he had the luxury of fear, now would be the time.  But he needed to keep his thoughts clear now more than ever.  It was uncertain as yet whether he was in enemy hands, or what had become of the base.  Keeping his optic dimmed, so as not to tip off his captors (if he was a prisoner) that he was awake, Shockwave cautiously began to feel around and underneath himself, looking for clues as to his situation.  He was on his back, it turned out, on a metal surface – not the floor, too smooth.  Berth?  No – it was harder, more like a medical table, he decided.

 

What did that mean?  His processor was fogged; making connections was like wading through molten slag.  It was good, wasn’t it?  His comrades had found him, they were going to repair him.  Or, or – Shockwave fought to keep from hissing aloud in frustration at the way his mind was betraying him.  Or _bad_.  It could mean the Autobots had captured him, and were restoring him just to the point where torture would be effective.

 

_Torture relies upon…_

 

It was there, somewhere, just beyond his grasp:  an old, well-worn axiom learned from a long-ago mentor.  It was one he’d used many times himself.  What _was_ it?

 

_Torture relies upon… fear._ Yes.  _Pain in itself is insufficient.  Torture must operate on the twin axes of fear and hope._

Icy relief flooded his circuits.  The Autobots would never wring the secrets of Cybertron’s defences out of him.  They could make him hurt, but they would not break his control.  They would not make him fear.

 

Without changing his posture, Shockwave began to online his optic, bit by bit, taking in the room around him.  It seemed… familiar… again the sluggishness of his processor intervened.  Before he could take a more thorough inventory of his surroundings, he heard voices, and hurriedly darkened his optic again.

 

“… that gun arm.  The information could prove most valuable.”

 

The words triggered mental alarms, but something about the voice… he knew that voice.

 

And then there came a second voice, one that cut through the fog that had settled over his thoughts.

 

“Negative.  Hook will proceed with repairs to exact specifications.  Further study of Shockwave’s mechanisms:  not authorised.  Will be detected.”

 

_Soundwave!_

 

“Very well, sir.  But I don’t know why we’re bothering,” the voice that Shockwave now recognised as Hook’s retorted.  “He’ll be scrap in any case once Lord Megatron gets a hold of him, after what he did.”

 

“Lord Megatron’s punishments, not your concern.”  The variation in tone was unlikely to be detected by most observers, but to Shockwave, Soundwave’s voice sounded colder and flatter than he’d heard it in a long time.

 

Two sets of footsteps:  one approaching, one leaving.  The nearer set halted alongside the operating table, and there was the soft click of switches being thrown.

 

A wave of numbness washed over his receptors, dulling the pain and making Shockwave’s already laboured thoughts slip away from him as if they were oiled.  Only one stayed with him, blazoned brightly across his mind, even as he fell into recharge.

 

_What did I do?_

 

 

When Shockwave woke again, he was alone.  He onlined his optic immediately, and was pleased to find that this time, his mind processed the details of the room without any delay or fuzziness, feeding him updates about his own status at the same time.  His physical injuries had been expertly repaired, and not long ago, to judge by the faint, lingering warmth of the welds.  And his mind was sharp, each section of his processor reporting –

 

- _signal lost-_

Wait.

 

Gingerly, he prodded the connections to his different systems, one by one.  His main processor seemed to be back to functioning at full capacity, but several of his more isolated systems weren’t responding to his pings at all.  Not damaged, just… disconnected, as if they’d been detached.

 

This wasn’t right.  The repairs to his helm should have fixed any processor problems, unless… unless they didn’t stem from the head injury…

 

Pushing aside his growing unease, Shockwave sat up weakly, then managed to pull himself off the operating table, pausing to steady his legs under himself.  His questions about the state of his processor would have to wait until he could piece together what had happened.

 

First, he had to see Lord Megatron.

 

Megatron was pacing the command centre when Shockwave arrived – slowly, haltingly, still needing to brace himself against the wall from time to time.  His unsteady gyros meant that sinking into a bow was all but impossible; however, Shockwave managed a graceless genuflection.  “My lord.”

 

“Well.  If it isn’t the _guardian_ of Cybertron,” Megatron drawled, rounding on him.  “And a _fine_ job you’ve done, Shockwave, with what I entrusted to you.  As if repeated Autobot incursions into this base were not failure enough on your part, you’ve now _handed_ the Autobots our headquarters on Earth!”

 

Shockwave’s fingers tightened against the wall supporting him, leaving dents.  This made no sense – this was a delusion caused by the damage to his helm, had to be.  “My lord?  I… fear I do not understand.”

 

Curling his lip, Megatron turned his back on Shockwave, ignoring him to ask instead, “Soundwave, have you determined how much our _faithful guardian_ sent the Autobots before the data stream was shut down?”

 

Soundwave, true to form, was standing in front of the consoles, his fingers moving over them at lightning speed.  “Calculating, Lord Megatron.  Analysis shows Autobots received:  perimeter security details of headquarters, guard rota, patrol routes, first level –”

 

“ _No_.”  The single quiet, horrified syllable made Soundwave break off, and caused Megatron to look back over his shoulder.

 

“Something you wish to say, Shockwave?”

 

Shockwave pushed away from the wall; the action made him stumble slightly, but he righted himself to stand upright before his master.  “My lord, I beg your forgiveness.  If some negligence of mine permitted the Autobots to access this information, I will take any punishment you see fit to administer.  But I did not give it to them.  You must know that I am not capable of such a betrayal.”

 

A few steps behind Megatron, Starscream was watching the scene with undisguised glee.  He was smart enough to stay out of reach of his enraged commanding officer, but he was clearly enjoying seeing Shockwave – whom he’d so often needled for being “Megatron’s pet” – on the receiving end of Megatron’s wrath for once.  At Shockwave’s words, Starscream started, then broke out into an elated grin.

 

Megatron’s expression, meanwhile, did not change.  “You may wish to reconsider those words,” he sneered, then jerked his chin irritably towards Soundwave.  “Show him.”

 

Soundwave hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing from his master to Shockwave and back; then he toggled a switch.  The central monitor display split:  the left side showed what Shockwave recognised as the computer’s security logs, showing – unbelievably – a transmission made directly to the Ark, containing all the information Soundwave had listed.  The security codes authorising the transmission were unmistakably Shockwave’s.

 

As if to pre-empt Shockwave’s protest that someone must have stolen or overridden his codes, the right side of the screen began to replay footage from the security cameras located in the command centre.  To his horror, Shockwave saw himself enter, move to the console, and begin inputting information.  His movements on the tape were jerky and odd, but what caught Shockwave’s attention was the information he could clearly be seen typing.

 

It was impossible… but he was initiating the transmission himself.

 

Shockwave stood silent, his mind trying and failing to grasp some logical thread to explain what he was seeing.  Try as he might, he remembered nothing after being knocked out in his lab.  The time code on the footage showed that he had sent the transmission after that.  What had _happened_ to him?

 

“Luckily for you, Soundwave pointed out that your uncharacteristic behaviour in the tape _might_ indicate some kind of external control,” Megatron said, his voice deceptively level, “otherwise, you would be in pieces on Hook’s workbench at this very moment.”  Pausing to gauge Shockwave’s reaction, he continued, “It was Soundwave who discovered a possible explanation for your actions, other than simple treachery.”

 

“Blaster.”  Soundwave’s voice was a low rumble, laced with a venom towards his rival that took even Shockwave aback.  “Evidence:  Shockwave operating under Autobot mind control.”

 

Shockwave tilted his head, puzzled, despite the sudden hope that flared in him.  “How?”

 

“Device in lab –”

 

“A device planted during an _Autobot incursion_ , no doubt, and which our valiant guardian of Cybertron failed to detect,” crowed Starscream.  Soundwave shot him an impassive look, and continued.

 

“Device in lab, Autobot in origin, employing new form of stealth technology.  Detection:  close to impossible with current methods.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“Sound bomb.  Purpose of device, dual in nature:  first, emit strong sonic pulse, damaging equipment and knocking Shockwave’s systems temporarily offline.  Second:  emit sounds calculated to suppress independent thought, make subject suggestible.  Shockwave, controlled to send Autobots classified information.”  Soundwave glanced down for a moment.  “Device, clearly modelled on Decepticon technology used at Dance-a-tron.  Autobot Blaster, apparently studied and replicated.”

 

“And used it far more successfully than _you two_ ever managed,” Megatron growled, waving a hand at Soundwave and Starscream.  Starscream opened his mouth, indignant, but apparently thought better of it, and subsided against the wall with a smirk.  Soundwave bowed his head further, his posture miserable.  “But Soundwave, at least, out of the three of you incompetents, actually did something right.  He was monitoring Cybertron closely, and managed to isolate the transmission and shut it down before it completed.”  For some reason, Soundwave didn’t seem buoyed by this bit of praise, as hard-won as it was, especially given Megatron’s dangerous mood.  Instead, Soundwave was still staring fixedly at the ground, as if it were a code he was trying to decipher.  “That also allowed us to identify and change the codes that were leaked.”

 

“My lord, I swear to you, I have no memory of any of this.  How did you break the Autobots’ control over me?”

 

Soundwave lifted his head at that.  “Forceful shock:  disrupts control mechanism.  For organics, water.  For Cybertronians, electrical shock or trauma.  In Shockwave’s case, focused energy was administered to –”

 

“Starscream shot you,” Megatron finished.  Starscream waved merrily.

 

So that explained the severity of the helm injury.  Shockwave bowed.  “Under the circumstances, a most…”  The rest of the words were an effort, but one he had to make.  “… _wise_ decision.  I am grateful that that damage was limited –”

 

“ _Limited?_ ” Megatron roared.  Soundwave twitched at the sound, and even Starscream took a couple of steps backward.  “One of my most trusted officers colludes with the Autobots to send them information that could _enable an invasion_ , and you tell me the damage was _limited_?  And as for this question of mind control…”  Megatron turned fully and planted himself in front of Shockwave, flexing the fingers of his right hand in such a way that it caused the light to subtly glint off his fusion cannon.  His voice was a deadly purr.  “A very pretty little story.  A very… _convenient_ little story.  Almost as convenient as your claim to remember nothing of what happened.  And the device itself, an ingenious piece of work.  So ingenious that you might almost have come up with it yourself, Shockwave, mmm?”  Megatron leaned close.  “I am not unjust.  But I cannot afford to take chances with those close to me.  I require more than pretty stories, Shockwave.  How can I be sure that you did not contact the Autobots of your own free will?”

 

“My lord… the device…”

 

“Is not _proof_.  Not sufficient proof of the loyalty of the guardian of all of Cybertron.  I put you in this position because I was sure of you, Shockwave.  How can I be sure of you now?”  The question did not seem to be rhetorical; Megatron was peering intently at Shockwave, clearly expecting an answer.

 

Behind the commander, Soundwave tilted his head slightly, trying to catch Shockwave’s attention.  When he had it, he made a motion, small but unmistakable, towards himself.

 

_Of course, Soundwave.  His telepathy can determine whether I’m lying.  But why doesn’t he mention that to Lord Megatron himself?  Is he…_   It seemed unlikely, but Shockwave could find no other explanation.  _Is he actually asking my_ permission _before he suggests it?_

Keeping his optic fixed on Megatron, Shockwave made a tiny, open gesture with his hand.  _Go ahead._

 

“Lord Megatron,” Soundwave interjected.  “Suggestion:  Scan of Shockwave’s mind would reveal deception, if present.”

 

Megatron gave Shockwave one last up-and-down glance.  “Proceed.”

 

Soundwave stepped forward, extending his hands slowly until his fingertips almost brushed Shockwave’s helm.  Without hesitation, Shockwave bent his helm forward, accepting the touch.

 

At first, it seemed that nothing had changed, except for the faint warmth of Soundwave’s fingertips arrayed along either side of his helm.  Then Shockwave realised that the warmth was gradually intensifying – and spreading, as well.  Soundwave’s fingers seemed to be growing, until each pinprick of heat was the size of a palm, then of a whole hand; then the sensations of each separate touch melted together, becoming a flood of warmth that covered his entire body, swamping his sensors.  It felt pleasant:  a deep, soothing heat, embracing him, enveloping him –

 

– _smothering him!_   Shockwave jerked back, trying to pull away, but the heat was everywhere, choking his vents.  _No!  No no no no –_

 

“Shockwave.”

 

Abruptly, the heat ebbed away, leaving only a slight, tingling warmth behind.  Shockwave looked up into Soundwave’s visor, wondering if that could possibly be it, if they were actually finished so quickly.

 

Soundwave’s visor loomed huge in his vision, glowing with a flickering array of colours – first its usual red, then purple, icy Autobot blue, a white light with the intensity of a solar flare.  Shockwave tried to look away, only to find that behind Soundwave, the room was simply… blank.  Not fuzzy or bare, but non-existent.

 

“Oh,” he managed.  Then, collecting himself and forcing his thoughts into something resembling a logical pattern:  “I take it that this is simply a projection of your physical form, and that we are inside my mind.”

 

“First assumption:  affirmative,” Soundwave replied.  Shockwave noticed that the jaw of the projection did not move, the way Soundwave’s did behind his mask when he spoke.  “Second:  negative.  This space:  constructed area between two minds, existing outside both.”

 

“A… buffer zone of sorts.”

 

Soundwave paused, as if turning over the metaphor in his mind.  “Essentially correct.”

 

“Why are we here?”

 

“Shockwave, reacted badly to attempt.  Temporary retreat, prudent.  Most likely explanation:  attempt to enter Shockwave’s mind triggered memories of mind control.”

 

“I do not recall.  It only felt as though I were burning up.”

 

“Shockwave, experiences mental contact as heat?”  Soundwave’s voice sounded intrigued.  Very intrigued, in fact; though the pattern of speech was unchanged, it seemed as though more emotion than usual was bleeding through into the mech’s normally level tone.

 

“Yes. Is that significant?”

 

“Experience differs among subjects.”  Shockwave wondered how Soundwave himself experienced it, but put the thought aside as he felt the tendrils of heat reaching out to him once more, brushing hesitantly against his plating… or rather, Shockwave realised, against his processor.

 

“Second attempt, permitted?  Can also be terminated if necessary.”

 

Shockwave steeled himself.  “Agreed.”  Distantly, he noticed a faint sound begin, swelling gradually into a recognisable melody.  It was the song Soundwave had given him.  He thought wryly that the communications officer was trying to soothe him with music, as if he were a damaged cassette, but he could not deny that hearing the song helped.  It gave him something to focus on, as the heat began to build once more.

 

“Trust me,” Soundwave told him, and then Soundwave’s warmth was wrapped around him, pulling him under.

 

The sensation of choking returned, but Shockwave endured it.  _I am not really here,_ he reminded himself.  _I have no vents to clog, no plating to overheat.  This is an illusion._ And after a long moment, the heat did seem to ease.  It was still present, but it was now almost enjoyable – the languid warmth of living machinery, tucked around him like an embrace.

 

Soundwave was no longer beside him; bafflingly, Shockwave felt like he _was_ Soundwave, and himself at the same time.  It was his mind that asked _Now what?_ , but it was also his mind that answered itself, _Show me._

 

The song.  The song was playing in the background as Shockwave worked in his lab.  It was the only clear noise; the clink of instruments, the hum of equipment, all were muffled.  The perspective was distorted, too:  the label on a beaker Shockwave knew he would need for the experiment jumped out as if the letters were eight feet tall, while the three beakers next to it were indistinct masses of colour.

 

_This song?_ one part of his dual mind asked the other, and the response was automatic, his mind pulling up and cross-referencing every time he had listened to Soundwave’s music over the last months.  He was experiencing both of their emotions, he realised; he was faintly embarrassed at how often he had played that song, and at the same time he was… elated?

 

The memory played itself out around him, around them, the lab suddenly exploding in a nanosecond of noise and pain.  Shockwave somehow felt Soundwave reaching _out of_ him… and the scene slowed.  Details that he hadn’t processed at the time were suddenly clear.  There was a faint click under the music, and then the concussive blast of sound; it was strange to see it snaking towards him in slow motion, equipment sparking and glassware bursting in an encroaching wave.  The perspective shifted, tilting up to the ceiling – that was Shockwave falling – and then the image shorted out.

 

When the visuals returned, Shockwave was not in the med bay, but on the floor of the lab where he had fallen.  The world jolted again as he slowly climbed to his feet.  There was music playing, different music.  Deep, hard-edged notes filled the lab.  Both halves of Soundwave-Shockwave recognised them, with the Shockwave part recoiling from the noise, while Soundwave’s thoughts inside Shockwave simply observed, _Blaster made improvements._

In the memory, Shockwave’s body jerked, as if pulled forward by an invisible string – but he seemed to be resisting the tug, attempting to shake himself free.  Soundwave-Shockwave could feel what was happening, as well as see it:  the rough, inexorable pull, and the rising panic as Shockwave felt his mind succumbing to it.  The disorientation as Shockwave, in a last-ditch effort, severed the connections between his main processor and his outlying systems, trying to keep the contagion from spreading.

 

And then, numbness.  There was nothing in Shockwave’s mind now, in the memory, except for the pounding beat of the music – no thought, no rebellion.  His body unresistingly turned towards the door, and began to walk puppet-like out of the lab and towards the command centre console.

 

Buried deep inside his own memories, the current Shockwave was starting to feel the effects of the music as well.  Such a compelling beat; such an all-consuming pattern.  It would be so easy to simply let go, to let himself be bent and fitted into that pattern, the melody that seductively promised to make sense of everything…

 

Shockwave inside Soundwave inside Shockwave felt coils of warmth tighten around him, Soundwave’s mind holding him protectively.  The sensation brought him back to himself, and as the Shockwave in the memory mindlessly keyed in his security codes, Soundwave gently steered Shockwave out of the command console, closing the door on that recollection.

 

_Safe place to recover?_ Soundwave’s thoughts queried, and immediately they were back in the lab, an intact lab, before the Autobot device had blown it apart.  Shockwave and Soundwave were working side-by-side at one of the benches.  Shockwave wondered idly whether it was strange for Soundwave to see himself through someone else’s mind like this, and instantly knew the answer.  _Not unusual.  But… with you, gratifying._

In the memory, Soundwave was demonstrating a new idea on the circuit board they were holding between them.  Shockwave was watching avidly, his mind racing to absorb the implications of what Soundwave was suggesting.  The rush of the idea, and the pleasure of the company, were revitalising, helping the lingering horror of watching himself be controlled fade away.

 

_Connections to processor functions, cut for security reasons; has Shockwave re-established?_ Soundwave asked, and then Shockwave could feel him reaching out once again.  This time, the warm grasp of Soundwave’s mind was stretching out towards those disconnected parts of Shockwave, the lost signals, and beckoning them back.  Electricity flared along those pathways once again, and Shockwave pinged the different components of his processor, noting with satisfaction that they all responded.  His mind was whole.

 

_Thank you,_ his systems hummed, and the same gratitude was bounced back to him.

 

And just like that, the warmth that had been wrapped around him ebbed away, leaving him suddenly cold, his own thoughts the only ones he could hear.

 

Shockwave onlined his optic, gazing at Soundwave – the physical one, this time, whose visor shone a steady red.  After a silent moment, Soundwave carefully removed his hands from Shockwave’s helm, and said, “Shockwave:  truthful.  Autobot mind control witnessed.  Shockwave, attempted resistance.”

 

Megatron eyed Shockwave.  The commander’s expression was inscrutable, but Shockwave, who had known him since before the start of the war, thought he detected something like relief.

 

“Very well.  Shockwave, I want that stealth technology the Autobots used to hide their bomb cracked.  You will scour every micrometre of this base for similar devices; then you will find a way to adapt it for our use.”  He grinned savagely.  “I want to be able to stick a bomb under Optimus Prime’s _berth_ without his detecting it.”

 

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

 

Shockwave bowed, then obediently keyed up the space bridge at Megatron’s request.  The Decepticon command staff filed in; Starscream, clearly disappointed that the show was over, had begun sniping at Megatron, who responded with growled threats.  Soundwave passed close to Shockwave as he was leaving, and murmured, “Mind reading:  draining.  Shockwave, should rest.”

 

“As should you – but I do not think either of us will get the opportunity,” Shockwave responded in a low voice, watching Megatron snarl at his second in command.  Soundwave merely nodded, cast one last look at Shockwave, and followed their master.

 

As soon as the others had left, Shockwave slumped against the console, the strain on his sensitive new welds catching up to him.  The cool metal grounded him as he sought to file his thoughts into some semblance of order.  His processor was his own again, reconnected and free of that horrifying music; but for some reason, the disorienting sense of being one with another mech, the heat of Soundwave’s mind entangled with his, lingered.

 

_With you, gratifying._

 

Shockwave found himself staring at the silent space bridge for a long time.


	4. Wavelength, Part 1 (Redshift)

Shockwave’s lone hand clenched around the edge of the console.  It was a basic precaution, no different from bolting a specimen to the lab table before running electricity through it.  In a few seconds, he knew, it would be the only thing keeping him upright.

 

His ventilations were cycling a shade faster than normal; with a stern thought, he quieted them.  Tipping his head back, he said simply, “Begin.”

 

The hard notes of the Autobot music filled the lab, and everything was heat.

 

His fingertips curled, the underside of the console beginning, just slightly, to buckle in his grasp.  Fans kicking on, Shockwave twisted, but there was no way to get relief; the heat was stuffing his vents, snaking under his plating.  And it was as if the music were being carried along with it, slipping into his systems and weaving across his mind.  Unbidden, Shockwave’s mind began to trace the melody, as beguiling and perfect as the fractal patterns of a crystal.

 

_No_.  To follow that thread was to be lost.  He must maintain control.

 

_Hydrogen,_ Shockwave recited to himself, _helium, lithium, beryllium, boron…_

His thoughts shrank in on themselves, the list forming a fragile wall between them and the encroaching music.  He kept his vents as steady as possible.  _There is no heat.  It is an illusion.  Rhenium, osmium… iridium…_

But the sound was real, and relentless.  It pressed against his defences, welling up, seeking out any crack to flood through.  The low thrum seemed to vibrate deep in his back struts, making his legs twitch and ache to move.  _Radium… acti – actinium…_

The next element would not come.  Shockwave was rifling his own mind frantically, looking for the word, the word that would keep out the music for just a moment longer, while the temperature crept higher and the notes pounded at him, the word, he needed the –

 

And then the music was inside his mind, it was all around him, the pattern of it shimmering as it stretched out flawlessly in all directions and _oh_ , why had he tried to block this out, it was glorious…

 

Dimly, Shockwave could feel himself turning, putting one foot in front of the other.  His hand peeled off the console slowly, which puzzled him for an instant – was he supposed to hold onto that?  Why? – but it was soon forgotten as his body lurched across the lab.  The melody was shepherding him onward, its perfect strains like a road laid out before him.  His hand moved, and then –

 

_Shockwave, return._

 

The thought was abruptly _there_ , and it went through Shockwave like a jolt of electricity.  The lab snapped back into focus.  He was standing in front of a small table, staring at a beaker full of a bright blue liquid.

 

“How long?”  Shockwave’s voice was thick with static.

 

“Eighty-seven point three seconds,” Soundwave replied.

 

The method of the experiment was simple enough.  Just as Blaster had done, Soundwave had embedded a command into the music.  A miniscule one, in this case:  proceed to the table with two vials of clear liquid sitting on it, and pour them into a beaker until the combined liquid turns blue.  It was a pointless task, but also a harmless one – after all, if Shockwave could learn to fight off the impulse to do something harmless, how much more strongly could he fight an order to go against his very programming, and betray the Decepticons?

 

“If” being the operative word.  Shockwave currently had eleven beakers of blue liquid stacked on a shelf.  Every last one of them had been produced after less than two minutes of resistance to the order.  He added the latest one, his antennae drooping slightly.

 

“Thorium,” he said quietly.  “Such a basic piece of knowledge, almost as deeply encoded as the protocols to cycle fuel through my frame.  And yet, I could not access it.”

 

He didn’t know when, exactly, Soundwave had drawn so close behind him; the communications officer could move almost as silently as one of his symbionts when he wished to.  But that low, soothing voice was suddenly right next to his audial.  “Observation:  This training unnecessary.  Initial mental attack, fruitless for Autobots.  Unlikely to be repeated.”

 

“Unlikely, but not impossible.  And I cannot accept the existence of a weapon that can so quickly and completely render me useless, without attempting _some_ countermeasure.”  Soundwave stirred next to him, as if to speak, but Shockwave cut him off.  “You saw that memory, as clearly as I did.  They –”

 

_They took my mind.  They took my_ mind.

 

“– came exceedingly close to having the codes to launch a surprise attack that could have wiped out our entire faction.”

 

“But they were stopped.”  Soundwave’s tone was unusually sharp.  “No Decepticon invulnerable alone.  Safeguards exist to cover vulnerabilities; safeguards operated as required.  Shockwave, _never_ useless.”

 

“Then why are you here?”  Shockwave turned to face him; Soundwave was standing so close that they almost brushed together as he did, and the warmth made Shockwave shudder inwardly.  It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was too much for his plating, still tingling and hyper-sensitive from the remembered heat of the music.

 

Soundwave’s visor flickered.  “Explain.”

 

“Either my _vulnerability_ is a liability to the Decepticons, one serious enough to merit the army’s third-in-command spending many hours away from his duties to help me correct it, or it is not.  For you to devote so much time to addressing what you deem an insignificant risk is illogical.  Why are you here?”

 

Soundwave retreated a step, then another, putting enough distance between the two of them that Shockwave no longer found his warmth so distracting.  There was something almost plaintive about his voice when he finally spoke.  “Soundwave’s help:  requested.”

 

“That is not an answer.”

 

The stubborn jut of Soundwave’s jaw and an unreadable flash from that red visor were all the elaboration Shockwave received.  Instead, Soundwave clipped out, “Assistance:  no longer desired?”

 

Shockwave stiffened.  “If I have trespassed too much on your time, then I apologise.  I would not want you to waste your efforts on something you deem pointless.”

 

Soundwave stared at him; the intensity of it was such that he almost seemed to be trying to read Shockwave’s mind once again.  But there was no contact, this time, no enveloping warmth.  It was a shame.  Shockwave would have given much, in that moment, to understand what was going through Soundwave’s head.

 

In the end, Soundwave did not storm off.  He carefully copied the musical sample onto a data slug, and pointed out that if Shockwave intended to continue the experiment alone, he would need to construct a device to give him an electric shock after he succumbed to the music.  “This method, effective, but more traumatic than telepathic recall.  Repeated shocks, may cause injury.”

 

“I do not intend to fail indefinitely,” Shockwave replied coldly.

 

“Failure, never intended consequence.”  Soundwave’s tone was acid.

 

For the second time in a week, Shockwave caught himself gazing at the empty space bridge long after Soundwave’s departure.  Then he turned and walked back into his lab, trying to shake the irrational sense that some vital component had just been ripped out of him.

 

***

 

Music filled the lab.

 

This time, though, it carried no compulsion with it.  The quiet, intricate rhythms of the song Soundwave had once given him formed a soothing counterpoint to the dull roar of the blowtorch in Shockwave’s hand.

 

He was attending to one of the more delicate seams on the second prototype of the device Megatron had ordered – the one modelled after the Autobot technology that had allowed them to detonate a sonic blast in his lab.  The original device would most likely have been detectable to Autobot scanners, just not Decepticon, so some modification was necessary before it could be turned against the Autobots.  Working on the prototype provided some relief from the continued failure of his attempts to learn to resist the mind control.  The beakers of blue liquid were beginning to creep onto a second shelf, but Shockwave refused to empty them; their presence spurred him to keep going with the experiments.

 

Soundwave had not returned to Cybertron since their argument.  That was logical, Shockwave told himself; it had been petty of him to request Soundwave’s help to begin with, and inexplicable that the communications officer had indulged him.  In fact, Soundwave’s assistance with his previous experiments, though undeniably valuable to Shockwave, had been an equally frivolous use of Soundwave’s time.  It was little wonder that he hadn’t come back.

 

That he would probably not be coming back.

 

Shockwave switched off the torch, and bent to examine the seam.  While his abstract research would always fascinate Shockwave, there was satisfaction in producing a specific solution to an immediate tactical need.  It brought him closer to the heart of the war, allowing him to make a difference in the struggles that Soundwave and – that is, that the other Decepticons faced daily, down on Earth.  And it was something to hold onto, when his renewed solitude threatened to bring back memories of those long centuries, the dust piling up in the corners of the lab, and of his mind.

 

The prototype would need to be tested within range of the _Ark’s_ sensors.  That meant having someone smuggle it in – and, more crucially, retrieve it if the Autobots did detect its presence, before they could capture and study it.  Skywarp was probably the best choice for quick infiltration.  Leaving the device on the lab table, Shockwave went to the command centre and opened a channel to the _Nemesis_.

 

He was momentarily relieved to see that Soundwave was not at the communications console.  Rumble was on shift, instead.  Before the cassette even looked up, he began, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, not _now_ – oh, it’s you.”  He fidgeted.  “Uh, sorry about that, Shockwave; we’re just kinda in the middle of a situation here, y’know?”

 

Shockwave noted Rumble’s unaccustomed politeness to him, but filed it away as a question for a later date.  “What has happened?”

 

Rumble’s hands never stopped moving over the console.  “Battle at a nuclear plant went bad.  The ’Bots got prisoners – Thundercracker and the boss.”

 

“The Autobots have Megatron?”

 

Rumble shot him a distracted look.  “What?  No – _my_ boss.”

 

And suddenly Shockwave felt cold.

 

He could dimly hear Megatron’s bellow from the next room, and Starscream’s high, frantic voice answering it.  As they approached, Shockwave could begin to make out words:  “… more about my _wounded trinemate_ than your creepy little spy!”

 

“Then do something _useful_ for once in your function, Starscream, and buzz the _Ark_ to draw their aerial troops away!”  Megatron burst into the _Nemesis_ command centre, a tower of fury.  “Shockwave!”

 

“I have been briefed, my liege.”  Shockwave spared a look back towards his lab, remembering Soundwave standing beside him, that gentle touch on his mind to recall him from the spell of the music…

 

… because Soundwave could be in the same room with that music, and somehow retain control.

 

“And I believe I may have a plan.”

 

***

 

The Autobots would never it coming.  Shockwave took a certain grim satisfaction in that.

 

Starscream’s assault on the _Ark_ had served as far more than a distraction.  The seeker had managed to bring down one of the Aerialbots in a dogfight, then had landed and slipped the prototype stealth device onto the brat while he was unconscious.  He’d apparently ripped out half the Autobot’s components in the process, and for once, Shockwave had appreciated Starscream’s flair for violence.  Even if the ’Bots’ medics were equipped to detect the device, they would hardly be looking for it in the gruesome tangle of wires and trickling energon that was all that remained of the Aerialbot’s chest.

 

Sure enough, the damaged Autobot had been whisked back to the _Ark_ medbay – where Megatron had calculated that the prisoners would be, as well.  Both had sustained damage in the fight, and, Autobots being Autobots, they would have rushed to prove their vaunted mercy by tending to their captives. 

 

Shockwave had loaded his device with the same song the Autobots had used on him.  Without Soundwave’s help, he was unable to embed a command within it; the music itself would have to be enough.  If it could disrupt the Autobots’ systems, plunge them into the same fugue state that he had been subjected to, it might give the captives a chance.

 

Laserbeak was circling the area discreetly, broadcasting a live feed to both the _Nemesis_ and Cybertron.  According to the chronometer, the wounded Aerialbot had vanished within the _Ark’s_ doors five minutes ago – long enough to reach the medbay.  Shockwave’s thumb moved over the device’s remote trigger.

 

And then, for a long time, there was nothing but stillness.

 

Shockwave’s gaze tracked the faintest flicker of sunlight on the _Ark’s_ hull, the idle windblown motions of the desert sand.  Far away, he knew that Megatron’s optics – and Starscream’s, and the optics of all Soundwave’s worried symbionts – would be glued to the same image.  The seconds ticked on.  _Now_ would be the most probable moment for them to appear if they had managed to escape without hindrance… _now,_ if they had encountered obstacles… _now,_ if there had been armed resistance.  One by one, Shockwave’s estimates passed by.

 

And _now_ was the moment when the watchers would have to admit that their attempt – wait.

 

The doors of the Ark slid open; shadows were moving inside, but the glare was too bright to make them out at first.  Laserbeak’s microphone was abruptly picking up the sounds of blaster fire.  His vents stuttering slightly, Shockwave leaned in.

 

Soundwave emerged into the light.  It was immediately clear why it had taken him so long to win free; the smashed remnants of restraints still clung to his wrists and ankles, and with one arm, he was half-supporting, half-dragging Thundercracker, whose mangled wing looked bad even from a distance.  The other hand held a pistol, and Soundwave kept glancing over his shoulder, ducking stray shots and taking haphazard potshots of his own at the darkness behind him.  Shockwave could just detect the outline of Blaster charging after them, gaining ground rapidly.  And then Skywarp was there, right on cue, wrapping a protective arm around his trinemate and grabbing hold of Soundwave’s wrist – and they were gone.

 

Blaster’s yell mingled over the feed with Laserbeak’s triumphant screech.  A moment later, a second screen blinked to life, and Megatron’s grin filled Shockwave’s vision.  “Well done, Shockwave.  Skywarp has just delivered his charges safely.  It appears your invention did the trick.”

 

“I am happy to serve, Lord Megatron.”  Shockwave could hear Starscream, somewhere beyond the range of the camera, loudly berating Thundercracker and fussing over him all at once, along with a joyful, “ _Boss!_ ” in stereo from Rumble and Frenzy.  “I regret to say, however, that if the Autobots recover the remains of the device, it is unlikely that we will be able to pull such a trick again.”

 

“It is of no consequence.  You’ll come up with others.  I have every confidence in you, Shockwave.”  Megatron’s optics glowed, and Shockwave felt his spark stir.

 

But as content as he was with the outcome, he still found himself craning his neck slightly, hoping for a glimpse of the rescued Decepticons – purely to ensure that they were, indeed, unharmed, of course – and sinking back with an unmistakable pang of disappointment when Megatron cut the transmission.

 

_No.  A scientist does not ignore the evidence in order to draw more comfortable conclusions,_ he reprimanded himself.  _You had Lord Megatron’s word that they were safe.  It would be illogical to require further confirmation.  You had other reasons for looking._

_And it was not Thundercracker you wanted to see._

Ruthlessly, Shockwave forced himself to re-examine his contact with Soundwave over the past year, replaying every word exchanged.  Every emotion, whether or not he had fully processed it at the time.

 

The conclusion was inescapable.  Data did not lie.

 

_Oh, no._


	5. Wavelength, Part 2 (Blueshift)

For perhaps the first time in his function, Shockwave was sitting in his lab, his hands absolutely still.  The analysis he was carrying out was no less complex, and no less vital, than any he had done previously, but there were no beakers and charts for this.

 

It was not what Decepticons _did._ To form such a deep connection with a single individual – to allow oneself to care to that extent – created a dangerous vulnerability.  It could so easily be exploited, by enemies and allies alike.  Even the Seeker trines had to contend with the risk, and Soundwave himself was no stranger to those who would try and use his symbionts against him.  And those arrangements at least carried the insurance of having more than two sparks involved.  Besides, there were tactical advantages to trines, and to a carrier model’s symbiotic relationships.  This _emotion_ was entirely about him, and that, in itself, could be considered close to a betrayal.  Wanting something so selfish, in the middle of a war?  What right did he have?

 

And even beyond that, Shockwave’s first loyalty could only ever be to Lord Megatron.  What mech would accept a… a _mate_ who consigned him to second place?

 

_Soundwave might,_ the counterargument weighed in.  _Soundwave, of all mecha, would understand._

Which only led to a further objection.  It would be illogical to assume that just because Shockwave had moved from taking pleasure in Soundwave’s company to feelings that were more… imperative, that Soundwave could be persuaded to share those feelings.

 

_And it would be illogical to assume that he cannot.  Insufficient data available._

Except for one rather compelling data point:  Soundwave had not returned to Cybertron in over –

Shockwave’s calculations were interrupted by a buzzing alert, signifying that the space bridge had been engaged.  He put the drones on high alert, then warily peered around the edge of the lab door, gun arm at the ready.

 

Only for it to drop slowly to his side at the sight that greeted him.

 

Soundwave stood in the command centre.  He looked exhausted, and a little hesitant, and whole, and _alive._ Shockwave regarded him for a long moment, before managing, “I am pleased to see you well.”

 

Soundwave’s visor brightened at that, and he inclined his head.  “Soundwave:  grateful for rescue.”

 

“I merely turned the Autobots’ own weapon back on them.  If you had been here, I am confident we could have developed something more devastating.”  He paused, hoping that it had sounded like a compliment, and not an accusation.  Shockwave was unaccustomed to speaking in layers.

 

After a moment, Soundwave gestured carelessly to his leg, and Shockwave noticed the fresh weld, clean but a shade crooked, across his thigh.  “Minor battle damage sustained; self-surgery, difficult due to angle.  Shockwave, willing to assist?”

 

Shockwave gestured towards his lab.  “Come.”

 

He pointed Soundwave to a bench and laid out a full set of medical tools next to him, methodically, one by one.  Soundwave’s frame slumped back gratefully against the wall, his visor dimming, but still glowing faintly as he watched Shockwave work.

 

“Tell me what you observed when the device went off,” Shockwave instructed, as he knelt awkwardly beside Soundwave.  The injury was thankfully superficial, and Soundwave’s patch job had taken care of the fuel leak.  All that was needed was a bit of work on the plating to ensure that it healed cleanly.  Shockwave laid a hand on Soundwave’s thigh to steady him before beginning.

 

The sudden rush that went through him was nothing he had calculated for.  Soundwave’s leg was warm under his touch, sleek and graceful; the paint had a slightly rough texture, weathered by the salt and winds of Earth, that caught at his fingertips as he slid them carefully along.  Soundwave’s vents quickened, almost imperceptibly.

 

“Pain?”

 

“No.”  The communications officer tilted his helm back.  “Autobots, immediately affected by music.  Brief struggle – medic Ratchet resisted longest – but all succumbed.  Without orders, entered catatonic state.  Impervious to other noises, light, touch.”  A slow, sidelong glance.  “Soundwave, recognised Shockwave’s work.”

 

Shockwave picked up a set of tweezers and began to tease together the ragged edges of the metal in the small gap at one end of the weld, where Soundwave hadn’t quite been able to reach.

 

After a moment, Soundwave continued, “Effects of music, apparently widespread.  Several incapacitated Autobots encountered in corridors.  Blaster, only Autobot immune, as Soundwave is.  On patrol near exit.”

 

Shockwave processed that, then deliberately pushed away the memory of Soundwave exchanging desperate blaster fire, the realisation of how close he had come to recapture, or worse.  _Vulnerability.  That is all this is._ He picked up the arc welder.

 

Soundwave hummed a few quiet notes to himself as Shockwave worked.  The latter finally looked up, finished, to see that his patient’s attention had been caught by the shelves above his head, and their complement of beakers.

 

“Done.  You should allow the seam to cool.”

 

Soundwave gestured towards the shelves.  “Attempts to block mind control, futile.”

 

“I _refuse_ to –”  Shockwave stopped, wrestling with himself.  The last thing he wanted was to have this argument with Soundwave again, but –

 

“Purpose, not questioned,” Soundwave corrected hastily.  “Only efficacy of methods.  Suggestion:  constructing defences less reliable than neutralising attack.”

 

Shockwave’s antennae twitched.  “What do you propose?”

 

There was the faint hint of a smile in Soundwave’s voice.  “Fight music, with music.”

 

***

 

Again, the table.  The two vials.  The empty beaker.  Shockwave was starting to know this battlefield better than some of the ones they’d conquered on Cybertron, so long ago.

 

But this time, Shockwave didn’t begin by bracing himself.  Instead, he stood and listened attentively as Soundwave, who was sprawled on the bench with his still-healing leg stretched out in front of him, played a song Shockwave had never heard before.

 

“But this is Earth music,” he pointed out on the second repetition.

 

“Shockwave’s dislike, understood.  But Earth composition, essential.”

 

“My opinion of the piece is neither here nor there.  Explain the necessity.”  For once, it was only a brief beat before Shockwave added, in a gentler tone, “Please.”

 

As always, Soundwave took both the abruptness of the order, and its correction, in stride.  “Earth music establishes pattern, then breaks it – shifts keys, introduces new themes.  Mind control, rooted in strength of uniform pattern.  Perfect pattern, difficult to resist.”

 

Shockwave nodded.

 

“Other uniform patterns, too simple, too weak to counteract.  Cannot hold concentration while more perfect pattern exists.  Shockwave’s mind will always default.”

 

“You mean that reciting the periodic table was ineffective… because it bored me?”

 

Soundwave tilted his helm, in the way that meant he was weighing an idea.  “Not accurate.  Boredom, insufficient.  _Desire._ Minds _crave_ perfect pattern.  Shockwave’s mind, more precise than most; desire, stronger.”

 

Shockwave was not entirely comfortable about Soundwave ruminating on the strength of his desires, however innocently.  Still, he could not quite keep the eagerness out of his voice as he asked, “And this Earth song will help?”

 

“Focus on intentionally broken, distorted pattern should break hold of mind control.”

 

“When did you come up with all this?”

 

Soundwave shrugged.  “Captivity, dull.”

 

It occurred to Shockwave that Soundwave had been wounded, chained to a medical berth, and apparently spent the time picking out music for Shockwave in his head.  Although it seemed strangely insufficient, he said stiffly, “You have my thanks for this, Soundwave.”

 

“Test first.  Gratitude may be unwarranted.”

 

“It is warranted.  Regardless of the result.”  He rose, locking his hand around the edge of the lab console.  “Begin.  Please.”

 

***

 

When the test only left him standing in front of yet another beaker full of blue liquid, Shockwave offlined his optic for the briefest of moments.  Then he straightened, keeping his voice steady.  “I fear that your efforts are wasted.”

 

A soft touch on his shoulder startled him; but it was gone almost as soon as it registered, and Soundwave was standing placidly beside him, simply waiting.

 

“I cannot… I could not hold onto it,” Shockwave confessed.  “I can memorise this sequence, this broken pattern, but it makes no sense to me.  Following it requires an effort that reciting the periodic table does not, and it seems that as soon as I stop to think, the control takes hold.”

 

“Shockwave does not feel connection to Earth music.  Soundwave, should have foreseen.”

 

“It is not logical to blame yourself.”  But Soundwave still looked so disconsolate that Shockwave reached out in turn.  He was uncertain what to do; his hand hovered over Soundwave’s arm before carefully patting it just above the wrist.  Soundwave stared from the hand to Shockwave and back to the hand, and Shockwave quickly retrieved it.

 

“Perhaps it is best that I pursue other avenues of inquiry.  Some form of automatic shut down when my processor detects a foreign influence, for example.”  It was a more extreme solution than he had hoped to employ, as it would render him useless in a mental assault, but useless was better than treacherous.

 

Soundwave hesitated.  “Alternative:  better understanding of Earth music.  Soundwave, could help.”

 

“How?”  Shockwave was genuinely puzzled.  “I doubt that additional exposure would make a difference.”

 

Soundwave held his hand a few inches from Shockwave’s helm, fingers splayed.  “This way.”

 

“You propose entering my mind?”  A strange and sudden ache took Shockwave by surprise, as he remembered the sensation of being safely wrapped in the warmth of Soundwave’s telepathy.  It only lasted for a moment, before he realised just how damaging it could be for Soundwave to witness the contents of his processor right now.  But Soundwave was shaking his head.

 

“Negative.  Shockwave would see inside Soundwave’s mind.”

 

Shockwave’s frame stiffened, antennae almost quivering.  _Such an opportunity.  Such a vast store of knowledge his processor must contain –_

 

He clamped down on the surge of curiosity.  Soundwave had always guarded his thoughts and secrets jealously.  That he would offer even a glimpse was startling, and Shockwave could hardly repay that by giving in to his natural impulse to peel the mental plating back further and poke at everything to find out how it worked.  However tempting that prospect was…

 

He warred with himself, and after a long moment, bowed his head.  “Show me.  Please.”

 

Once again, Soundwave positioned his fingertips against Shockwave’s helm, and the warmth of the touch began to blossom into spreading heat.  This time, however, the temperature climbed slowly, tendrils of warmth tentatively inching across his plating.  He felt as though the heat was cradling him instead of suffocating him.  Soundwave was being particularly careful, it seemed, although Shockwave was in no danger of panicking:  he was far more familiar now with the intrusive heat of forced mind control, and knew that Soundwave’s mental touch bore no resemblance to it.

 

When he felt the warmth completely wrapped around him, Shockwave attempted to raise his head.  The resulting sensation was odd.  His perspective shifted exactly as he had intended, bringing Soundwave’s face into view, but there was no feeling of weight or motion; it was like a changing display on a computer, or like the transitioning of a dream.

 

Soundwave’s visor glowed white, then blue, then yellow, then violet.

 

“Shockwave:  prepared?”

 

“Yes.  I will require guidance.”  Some additional assurance was probably needed:    Soundwave knew his hunger for knowledge.  “Understand that I wish to see only what you desire to show me.”

 

“Already understood.  Soundwave, trusts Shockwave.”  And with that, the image of Soundwave held out a hand, and Shockwave, with the same strange sense of weightlessness, reached for it.

 

The expected contact with Soundwave’s plating never came.  Instead, where the hand should have been, there was a pocket of heat that scalded him.  Shockwave hissed, but did not draw back, and after a moment, the sting mellowed into a sensation like a hot oil bath:  intense almost to the edge of pain, but deeply relaxing.  He moved forward again, and the heat roiled around him, living waves of it reaching up to pull him in.

 

And just like that, they were inside Soundwave’s mind.

 

Shockwave hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the cacophony of sound that assaulted him.  Screams, laughter, billions upon billions of voices speaking at once – and woven through and around it, everywhere, music.  Bass notes vibrated through Shockwave like a Dinobot picking him up and shaking him; high notes made him feel close to shattering; melodies overlapped and crowded into each other so thickly that he could discern no patterns, only a wall of noise coming at him.  It was so loud that it took him a moment to realise that he, too, was crying out, flinching away, trying to cover audials he didn’t have with arms that didn’t exist.

 

A voice spoke, that was his own and not at the same time.  _Shockwave.  Return._

It calmed him, and he fixed his attention on that voice, blocking everything else out as best he could.  Again, he had the bizarre feeling of being doubled:  he was inside Soundwave, but he also _was_ Soundwave, at home within his own mind.  _What do I do?_ he asked himself, and replied in the same instant, _Follow the music._

 

There.  Nested deep within the near-infinite number of other songs was the one he knew by spark, the one Soundwave had once given him.  Shockwave grasped onto it tightly, allowing its thread to pull him along.

 

_Is it always like this?_ he wondered, and felt rather than heard Soundwave’s amusement.  _Each mind, different.  Some, very familiar.  Others, very alien.  Soundwave’s unusual.  Some of this, deliberate:  first line of defence against invasion._ Perhaps it was only the effect of Shockwave’s concentration, but it seemed that the strains of the song were getting louder, and the other noises fainter around them.

 

_Does my mind feel alien to you?_ Shockwave didn’t mean to articulate the question, but the border between thought and speech had become thin, if it existed here at all.  He experienced Soundwave’s surprise and dismay as if they were his own, and cringed slightly.

 

The reply came back in their shared voices:  _Negative._

 

The music shifted as Soundwave drew Shockwave deeper into his mind.  Shockwave realised that they were standing outside on… _Earth, this must be Earth,_ he concluded, and Soundwave confirmed it.  The stars blazed down in strange configurations above an empty mountain plateau.  A different song filled the thin air; Shockwave thought he recognised the tune Soundwave had tried to teach him in the lab, before that last failed test.

 

And Soundwave was dancing.

 

Shockwave had never seen him dance.  He’d seen dance performances before, of course, and the dexterity involved had always impressed him, even if the dances themselves never especially held his interest.  But this – this was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.  Soundwave’s body moved as though it were liquid.  Hips swayed and circled, arms whipped around, sketching fluid counterpoints to the precise, perfect motions of the feet.  It was beautiful, but far from the ordinary prettiness of a dancer in a concert hall.  Soundwave’s dance was not a performance.  It was pure data interpretation – mathematical patterns becoming sound, sound becoming movement that snaked up from ankle to hip to shoulder to fingers, all without conscious thought.  He was like a scientific instrument, measuring a pattern too deep for Shockwave to discern, and bringing it to life in front of him; his body arched in wave functions.  Shockwave was fascinated.

 

And at the same time, he was inside the dance, inside Soundwave, feeling the pulse of the music animate him.  He stopped trying to track the rhythm of the song.  His body seemed to anticipate it, twisting to meet each new note, graph each new data point as it arrived.  There was something exhilarating about simply allowing his mind to follow along, riding the curve of the wave.

 

_What is science, if not broken patterns?_ Was that thought coming from Soundwave, or himself?  Did it even matter anymore?  _Finding the pattern is crucial, but finding where the pattern breaks – that is where discovery begins._   The image of a space bridge activating, flickering beams of light raining through a rip in spacetime, merged with the shifting readouts and dancing strings of numbers that signalled activation, merged with the feel of Soundwave’s hips rocking forward, and Shockwave _was_ the numbers, the pattern and its breaking –

 

He could feel a gentle tug, easing him out of Soundwave’s dancing form, and a small part of him wanted to cling on; that was irrational and selfish, he knew.  Because he understood, now.

 

The plateau and the stars faded, to be replaced with the interior of Shockwave’s lab… but not as they had left it.  There were no beakers on the shelf, and the Soundwave who craned his head attentively to examine the circuit board Shockwave was holding up had no freshly welded scar on his leg.  This was the same recovery space Soundwave had taken him the first time their minds had joined:  Shockwave’s memory of his lab.

 

But – no.  They were in Soundwave’s mind, not his.  This was _Soundwave’s_ safe space.

 

_Shockwave, functional?_ There was the faintest hint of worry beneath the coolly professional query.

 

_I am._ Shockwave lingered for a moment, watching the memory-versions of themselves bending their heads over a viewscreen together.  _I believe I am ready._

 

***

 

The music was battering at his mind, burning up his plating.  It had come, once more, to claim him.

  
But it would not have him this time.

 

He was halfway across the room.  The music had forced him that far, although every step had been wrung out of him, and had been as slow as if he’d been walking through molten slag.  Now, though, Shockwave was braced, head down and feet planted, and he was clutching with all his strength at the silly, broken, unscientific human song.  He hummed it, a discordant counterpoint to the Autobot music, and honed in like a laser to follow every note.  The Autobot music was quickly becoming so much noise around him, as his mind caught up and began toying with the rhythm he was humming.  It rewarded his examination; the more he repeated it, disassembled it, put it together in new configurations, the more complexity he found.  Soon, the Autobot music no longer had any hope of drawing him away.  It was a perfect pattern, yes, but because of that, it was thoroughly mapped and understood.  It was nothing next to the intriguing imperfections he’d discovered.

 

It was a while before he realised that it wasn’t just his humming getting louder – the Autobot tune was gradually fading away into silence.  As it died, he looked questioningly at Soundwave.

 

Soundwave’s visor flashed brightly.  “Time limit for test:  exceeded.  Liquid, still untouched.  Shockwave:  successful.”

 

The relief almost brought him to his knees, where the music could not.  Shockwave stood his ground, however, a slight drooping of his antennae the only outward sign that he was exhausted to the point of feeling giddy.  “Soundwave, no thanks are sufficient for what you have done for me.”

 

“None required.”  Most mecha would miss the faint touch of warmth there.

 

Shockwave tilted his helm, allowing himself to openly study his ally.  _Has my analysis been incorrect?  I have considered this only in terms of vulnerabilities, but are there not advantages, too?  Soundwave said it himself:  safeguards.  No Decepticon is invulnerable alone.  I am stronger with him; I am more, with him._

 

“Soundwave, I would speak with you.”

 

“Acknowledged.”  No wariness there, just waiting.

 

Shockwave steeled himself, suddenly wishing that he had planned his words more carefully before broaching the subject.  “It has never been in my nature to seek out intimate connections.  However, I find your company most… desirable.”  His voice dropped lower, as Soundwave stared at him.  “You have become important to me, in ways I did not anticipate.  If you are amenable to the idea, I… I wish to deepen our connection.  To stand beside you, rather than alone.”

 

Soundwave was silent for so long that Shockwave was beginning to wonder whether he’d understood him properly.  When Soundwave finally spoke, it seemed as though his soft voice was laced with a slight tinge of sadness.  “Mind reading process:  intense, not dissimilar to spark bonding.  Lingering attachment:  not uncommon.  Duration, limited.  This effect, observed even among interrogation subjects.”

 

Pushing aside for the moment the odd shudder he experienced at the thought of a bunch of captive Autobots panting after Soundwave, Shockwave examined the theory Soundwave had presented to him.  “You believe my feelings to be an artefact of the times our minds have been connected.”  He shifted closer.  “What if I told you my attachment arose before that?”

 

“Shockwave’s behaviour:  inconsistent with assertion.  Prior attempts at intimacy, ignored.  Between mental connections, Soundwave’s company rejected.”  There was no bitterness to Soundwave’s tone, any more than if he were gently pointing out a calculation error.

 

_Oh._  

 

“Apologies.  My arguing with you was – irrational.  I was so ready to consider your assistance an indictment of my weakness that I did not recognise it for a gift.”  And far from the only gift.  That song, all the Earth specimens… the myriad excuses Soundwave seemed to devise to spend time with him.  Shockwave let out a slow vent, amazed that he had not made the connection. 

 

“As for the rest… I assume that you were indirect in your approach out of consideration for me,” he said quietly.  “You did not wish to impose your wishes on me, or to make our association uncomfortable if I did not return your desires.”  Soundwave gave a nod that was almost a bow.  “That is appreciated; but I have not your skill in deciphering communciations.  I… did not fully understand.  Either your mind, or my own.” 

 

There was the slightest of hitches in Soundwave’s otherwise emotionless voice.  “Shockwave, understands now?”

 

In answer, Shockwave lifted his hand to Soundwave’s mask, and – slowly, as if he were defusing a bomb – trailed the backs of his fingers down the other mech’s jaw.

 

The response was a sigh so faint that Shockwave could not say whether it came from Soundwave’s vents, or from the mechanism that retracted his mask, which slid out from under Shockwave’s fingers.  An enticingly warm mouth brushed against his hand.

 

Most of Shockwave’s plating was not particularly sensitive.  His frame had been built for war; but his single hand had been configured for precise scientific procedures, and so its thin plating covered a web of delicate circuitry and hair-trigger sensors.  The heat of Soundwave’s lips instantly lit them all.

 

Shockwave’s optic flared as Soundwave, watching him intently, reached up to entwine his fingers with Shockwave’s own, and suck the first two fingers of Shockwave’s hand into his mouth.  Shockwave heard his own fans switch on, but even the strut-melting feeling of Soundwave’s glossa wriggling into the seams in his armour paled next to the realisation that Shockwave was seeing his face for the very first time.

 

Gently, Soundwave drew back, kissing the back of Shockwave’s hand.

 

Shockwave disengaged their fingers, only so that he could trail his fingertips, damp from Soundwave’s mouth, down his shoulder to the plate glass of his chest.  Every motion was precise, and Shockwave’s systems were humming with the subtle thrill of discovery.  Toying with the seams of the glass produced a needy little groan, deep in Soundwave’s throat; Shockwave found himself lingering just for a chance to hear that sound again, and filed the information away for future use.  But there would be more than enough time for that.  Slow now; slow.  He brought his hand back up to stroke the cables of Soundwave’s throat, eventually crawling around to cradle the back of his neck.  Such a vulnerable spot, and yet Soundwave arched wantonly into the touch as if he were Ravage being petted.  His arms went around Shockwave’s waist in turn.

 

The warmth of Soundwave’s plating was joined by a faint heat prickling at the edges of Shockwave’s consciousness, as if asking for admission.  Shockwave nodded and inclined his helm so that he was forehead-to-forehead with Soundwave.  The heated tendrils of Soundwave’s mental touch wrapped around his processor.  Just holding, not entering.  A thought presented itself at the forefront of his mind.  It didn’t come _through_ him, the way Soundwave’s thoughts did when their minds were joined; it was clearly separate.  Like speech, without speech.  _Too much?_

“No,” Shockwave replied, circling his cannon arm around to pull Soundwave tighter, and luxuriating in the warmth.  It did remind him of a question, though, one that he had once thought too personal to ask.  “You know that to me, the touch of another mind is heat.  What does it feel like to you?”

 

Soundwave didn’t answer at first, but his lips curved into a smile that Shockwave could just make out at the edge of his vision.  And Shockwave realised that he knew the answer.

 

“Music.  Mental connection is music.”

 

Soundwave murmured against the side of his helm, “ _Shockwave_ is music.”


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The epilogue is rated NC-17/Explicit, unlike previous chapters. You certainly don't need to read this to enjoy the rest of the fic; it's more like a little after-dinner mint to the story. Robot sex ahead - you have been warned!

On the surface, their lives have changed little.  Soundwave still joins Shockwave in his lab on Cybertron to assist with experiments.  If the music emanating from the lab is likely to include a selection of Earth songs nowadays, that is a minor detail.  Shockwave’s visits to Earth are a more dramatic alteration, though still relatively rare.  With some subtle prodding from Soundwave, Lord Megatron has conceded that Shockwave will be of more use if he can familiarise himself with the threats and opportunities they face on this new world.  Shockwave’s flights with Soundwave allow him to assimilate more data in an hour than he could in a year of studying isolated specimens.  They also allow Shockwave’s hand to occasionally wander to the buttons on his guide’s hips, or Soundwave to playfully nip at his antennae, but they restrict themselves to a few stolen moments.  Their duty to their lord and cause is still paramount.

 

When that duty is complete for the day – when their shifts are over, the lab experiments left peacefully bubbling away, the cassettes sent out to reconnoitre on their own – well, that’s a different story.

 

Shockwave’s fingertips trace the faint scar on Soundwave’s thigh.  It’s all but invisible now, but his delicately calibrated sensors can just make out the raised texture of the weld.  Above him, Soundwave sighs at the touch and arches back, grinding his hips down against Shockwave’s panel.  The motion is languid, his body sketching a graceful cosine curve.

 

Shockwave holds his hand up; Soundwave tangles their fingers together, and their minds reach for one another.  Shockwave’s frame stiffens as if electrified.  He’s still not used to this, to the heady feeling of slipping inside Soundwave’s processor, navigating a path through the overlapping walls of noise into the deeper recesses of his mind.  Instead of leading him, Soundwave lets him explore, only giving him the occasional mental nudge or playing him a few notes of a particularly sweet memory.  At the same time, Soundwave is inside _his_ mind, a warm presence curled up underneath his plating.  He can feel himself inside Soundwave inside Shockwave inside Soundwave, like some intoxicating infinite regress. 

 

He is lying underneath Soundwave, and yet, at the same time, he is straddling his own waist, looking down at himself, and Soundwave is looking up at him through Shockwave’s optic.

 

 _Ready?_ comes the thought, and Shockwave responds from the depths of Soundwave’s mind, _Please!_

Soundwave’s panel slides open.  His valve is dripping onto the searing metal of Shockwave’s panel; Shockwave quickly follows suit, and Soundwave eases down onto his spike with teasing slowness.  Shockwave can feel the deliciously wet heat clenching around him, and also feel the pressure of a spike filling his valve, and the heat of Soundwave’s presence in his mind rippling in pleasured little aftershocks.

 

Soundwave starts to move, the rhythm matching the song in his mind.  Shockwave’s hips are pistoning up into him, a relentless drumbeat under the melody; his hand finds a side seam, popping Soundwave’s chest glass open and dipping inside to firmly stroke the sensitive wiring there.  Soundwave slams his hips down faster, letting out a high, staticky cry as his own hands go to work, raking over neck cables, cupping Shockwave’s chest.  The doubled sensations are almost too much:  Shockwave is writhing, his vocalisations cracking, whimpers and broken endearments that are half-aloud, half only in his processor – but it makes no matter.  Soundwave can still hear them.

 

And in their joined minds, everything is warmth and sound.


End file.
